


Whiskey in the jar

by AudreyHorneFeelsDreamy



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyHorneFeelsDreamy/pseuds/AudreyHorneFeelsDreamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All any hunter wants, after a hard night, is a quiet drink and a little reflection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey in the jar

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped, the engine idling, the wheel vibrating slightly under his hands, just taking a moment to gather himself in the dark before heading into the bar.  
He needed a drink.  
Christ did he ever.  
But first he needed to calm down.  
The nest had been bigger than he’d thought. At least seven vamps by the time he’d stopped, found him self standing in the middle of the room, his breath heaving from his lungs, sweat pouring from his body, blood everywhere.  
_Nearly bought the farm kiddo._  
Flipping the sun visor down he looked in the little mirror, turning his face this way and that, finding a spot of missed blood and spitting on his sleeve to wipe it off.  
Really he should get to the motel, take a long hot shower and then turn in, but his head was still buzzing and the only thing that was going to make him sleep tonight was a belly full of whiskey.   
Snatching the keys from the ignition he stepped out of the car, pulled his jacket on to ward off the rain and headed inside to find some peace.

“I gotta ask.” He leaned across the bar to smile at the pretty girl tending it. “What time do you get off?”  
She smiled sardonically and poured him another shot. “Too late for you kid.”  
“Hey!” He feigned hurt. “I’m 30 years old!”  
She leant forwards and chucked him under the chin. “Then you’re a kid. Want my advice?”  
“Nope.” He swallowed, grimaced then held the glass out for another. “But you’re gonna give it to me anyway right?”  
She shrugged. “It’s kinda my job sugar.”  
He smiled. “You’re so pretty Carol…”  
“And you’re drunk. Now if I were you…”  
“Which you’re not..”  
“…. Which I’m not… I’d finish that drink, call a cab, and head home. Don’t you have a job? A girl? You drift in here every couple of weeks looking like hell and then…”   
“….I can afford therapy.” He said, trying to make it sound light. “Go on… you got people to serve right?”  
Carol shrugged and turned away.  
One part of him wanted her to press on, keep talking to him, but mostly he wanted to be left alone.  
There were only three things he knew he could handle,  
Killing, whiskey and fucking.  
Anything else became….. Complicated.  
Picking up his drink he wandered over to the juke box and fished in his pocket for some change.  
After a moments hesitation he punched in the numbers and sat back down.  
Metallica covering Whiskey in the jar filled the small space, and for a second, he closed his eyes and let the familiar tune wash over him.   
“Good call.” The guy at the end of the bar said quietly, smiling as he raised his own glass to his lips. “Bit before your time though?”  
He smiled lightly and nodded. “Yeah, maybe. But the classics don’t age right?”  
“Right. Unlike men.” He half laughed, half coughed. Something deep and rattling in his lungs. He cursed then held up his glass for a refill.  
_Ah what the hell_.  
He slid over to him and pushed his own glass forwards.   
“I’ll get this.”   
The older guy nodded his thanks and accepted his drink readily. “You’re a hunter.” He said, putting his glass down on the bar with a sharp tap.  
“What?”  
The guy nodded at the amulet he was wearing. It had ridden up over the top of his shirt.  
“Not a bad one. Keep the worst away. You carry any anti angel crap on you?”  
Frowning he shook his head, then fumbled as the old guy tossed what looked like a hex bag at him. “Hides you from most of them.” He said mater of factly.  
“Who the hell _are_ you?”  
The older guy huffed in amusement and shrugged. “Just a beat up old hunter kid. I keep my eye’s open for you guys and from time to time I see you’s.” He looked him in the eye and smiled kindly. “We all got the same look son. Besides. You stink of vamp.”

************

The bar was nearly empty.  
Carol had the lights turned low, something soothing was playing on the juke box and a comforting fug had settled over them.  
They’d traded stories like a couple of ex marines, laughed over near misses, grown quiet at talk of mutual acquaintances now long gone.  
“It’s a short, brutal life kid.” He murmured. “I feel like I’m just about ready to let it all go.”  
“No man! You’re what? Sixty? “  
“Fifty.” He laughed at the young mans embarrassed face then shook his head sadly before drawing himself up, smiling a little. “Come on then. How’d you get in?”  
“In?”  
“In the life! Everyone has a story about how they got in.”  
He shrugged then took a pull on his beer before starting.  
“It was my Mom. Demon killed her.”  
“That’s too bad kid.” He slapped him lightly on the shoulder.  
“Yeah. Well, don’t worry. I tracked the son of a bitch down and killed him.”  
“Amen to that.” The older man coughed, tapping his bottle against the other’s.   
“She ..uh… was possessed for a while… she didn’t make it.”  
He remembered how it had felt.  
Slipping into the life like it was a pair of favourite but forgotten boots. How he’d not questioned anything. Like he’d already known some how.  
He’d seen others come into the life, watched how they took time to adjust, how they went through denial and fear before coming out fighting, but he’d had none of that. It was almost like it was a role he was born to play.  
And he played it well.  
“I was only thirteen when it happened. I ran away from the children’s home and never really stopped.”  
“Got no family kid?”  
He shook his head. “No. No one.”  
“You get to keep anything of your Moms? A letter or picture maybe?”  
“Oh sure… You wanna see?”  
“Yeah. Lets have a look at her and we’ll drink to her memory.”  
He pulled out his wallet and slid the picture out.  
Her smile was wide and honest, like whoever had taken the picture had just cracked a joke. She had her arms around a boy who was laughing. His eyes crinkled up, head half thrown back.  
“You the boy?” He asked quietly.  
“Yeah. I was, um.. Ten, eleven maybe when that was taken?”  
“Your Dad take that photo?”  
He frowned. “I don’t know? It was a long time ago. I never knew my Dad though. Must have been a friend.”  
The older guy opened his mouth to speak just as his companions cell buzzed.  
He answered it, his face growing pale with tiredness.  
“I have to go.” He said, hanging up and swallowing his beer. “It was really great to meet you.”  
He held out his hand and the older man shook it firmly. “I never caught your name son.” He said, still grasping his hand.  
“Ben. Ben Braeden.”  
“I’m Dean…..” He paused then took a deep breath. “Dean Winchester.”  
It seemed to Ben like Dean was waiting for a reaction from him.   
_Poor guy_.  
“Ok. Well, Dean, it was great to meet you but I really have to go.”  
Reluctantly, Dean let his hand go and watched him leave the bar.  
Carol came over to collect their glasses and saw his eyes shimmering with tears.  
“Hey…hey Dean. You ok?”  
He nodded and turned to her, taking a deep shuddery breath.  
“You know that kid huh?” She said

“Yeah. Yeah I do.” He smiled sadly and finished the last of his beer. “That was my boy."

 


End file.
